A dark Ford parks in the lot for the familiar twin towers,
and two men, dressed in conservative suits, get out. One is carrying
a folder. They enter the building, take the elevator up to the
eleventh floor, and enter the offices of Remington Steele Investigations.

Mildred is working at her desk, and looks up as they pull out
badges. The first one says, "Colby."

"Rhodes," his partner says.

"Krebs."

"FBI," Colby says.

"Steele?" Rhodes asks.

"Inside," Mildred informs them, pointing with her
pen, her face impassive. As they turn toward the office, Mildred
gets up. "Coffee?" she asks.

"Tea," Colby says.

"Cream?"

"Sugar," Rhodes answers as Mildred quickly cuts them
off.

"Lumps?"

"Two."

Mildred gets to the door and pauses, then knocks twice and
opens the door.

Inside, Steele is reading the paper, his feet propped on the
desk. When the door opens, he lowers the paper and watches the
two men and Mildred enter the room to stop before his desk.

"Colby."

"Rhodes."

"FBI," Mildred tells a shocked Steele.

He folds the paper and sits forward as Colby opens the folder
and pulls out a copy of a magazine that he tosses down on the
desk before Steele. Steele picks it up and reads the title. "Bedside
Babes?" he asks, confused. He picks it up.

"Page 46," Colby tells him. "Babe of the Month?"

Looking at the two FBI men, Steele flips to the page, looks,
then closes the magazine quickly, embarrassed. "Good Lord."

Curious, Mildred comes around, and he shows it to her. "You
know her then?" Colby asks.

"Obviously not as well as I thought," Steele muses.

"Mind telling us what Laura Holt, private investigator,
is doing in a publication of that sort?"

Mildred looks at Steele as he searches for an answer. "Well,
obviously, she-" they glance at the magazine again. "She-
she's on a case," he says quickly, smiling at his quick thinking.

"According to his appointment book," Colby says,
"Laura Holt was the last person to see him. She might know
where he is."

"I assure you, gentlemen," Steele says, moving around
the desk, Mildred right behind him, "as soon as Miss Holt
gets in, you shall be the first ones to know," he tells them,
still holding the magazine. "The Remington Steele Agency
prides itself on its co-operation with the authorities."

"Suppose we have a look at your files, then," Colby
says, not really asking. "In the spirit of co-operation."

"Oh, yes," Steele agrees, eager to be out from under
the FBI's sharp gaze. "Mildred, look into that, please."

Mildred doesn't blink. "As long as they have a warrant,"
she says. Steele looks at her as if to ask if she's lost her
mind.

"I'm sure you can make an exception this one time,"
Rhodes suggests.

Steele nods, clearly disturbed. Mildred's next words don't
help him at all. "Listen, pal, how long do you think we'd
stay in business if we opened our files to every clown who came
by flashing a badge?"

"I could walk out that door and be back here with a court
order in thirty minutes," Colby threatens. "I could
close you down in a day."

"Oh, don't threaten us with that bureaucratic beeswax,
buster," Mildred responds as Steele looks decidedly ill.
"I didn't spend six years with the IRS fraud squad for nothing."

Steele takes a breath. "Uh, excuse me, gentlemen, just
a moment, will you please?" He takes Mildred's arm. "Miss
Krebs." He pulls her into Laura's office. "Mildred,
this is not a criticism, but- what the hell are you doing?"

"Clients' files are privileged information," Mildred
reminds him.

"But the FBI, Mildred," he frets, pacing. "You
remember London? You DO remember London? Five passports? Deportation?
Once they begin excavating my past-" he makes a cutting
motion against his throat, clearly upset and frightened.

"Relax, Chief. Non-co-operation between agencies is the
backbone of bureaucracy. By the time Colby and Rhodes get back
here with a warrant, you'll be six feet under."

Steele looks at her uncertainly. "Let's just hope it's
not an early grave, Mildred," he tells her. "Okay."
They go back into his office. "All right," he says,
only to find the office empty. "You'd better start carving
that tombstone right away, Mildred," he says, closing the
door to the reception area. "Also, get me the file on the
Veenhoff case."

"There isn't one," Mildred tells him.

"What do you mean there isn't one?"

"That's what I mean. We don't have a client called Veenhoff."

Steele picks up the phone and dials a number. "You mean,"
he starts to say to Mildred, then turns back to the phone. "Uh,
yes. Could you get me the listing for-" he hesitates.

"Veenhoff," Mildred prompts.

"Veenhoff Photography."

***

The agency limo pulls up outside a building in a run down part
of LA. Steele gets out and goes to one of the buildings with
a sign, "Veenhoff's Photography," taking out his lock
picks. He tries the door, and finds that it's indeed locked.
So he picks the lock and enters the building.

Inside, he finds racks filled with negligees, and photo settings.
A bathtub, bed, chaise lounge, etc, but no one else. He finds
a camera on a tripod and looks through it, turning it toward the
entrance as a blonde woman wearing a waitress' uniform enters.
"Hi," she says. "Sorry. I had a table that wouldn't
clear and my boss wouldn't let me go. I'm not too late, am I?"

Steele straightens from the camera, uncertain how to proceed.
"I'm afraid you have the wrong person here," he begins,
smiling at her.

"I mean, I'm here now. We might as well do what we can,
don't you think?"

"Miss, miss-"

"I have to admit, I'm a little nervous. I've never done
this sort of thing before."

"I'm a little new at this myself," Steele tells her.
They laugh. "Now, tell me," he reads her name tag,
"Jackie, now, exactly what type of photographs did you have
in mind?"

"Oh, I was sorta hoping you could do for me what you did
for Betsy Bloomquist? Only- no leather. Satin's more my style,
don't you think?"

Steele looks at her. "Oh, absolutely. Absolutely. No
question about it. Now, uh, did I happen to mention what I DO
with the photographs?"

"You're not gonna do anything with them, I hope. I wanted
to give them to Mikey for a wedding present. That'll surprise
him, don't you think?"

"Not too much, I hope," Steele mutters.

"If you got a dressing room, I'll slip into something
a little more-"

"Say no more, say no more. Right through here,"
he tells her, leading her toward a door marked "Dressing
Room". "Okay, Jackie. Take your time." She pauses
in the doorway. "Breathe. Okay? Don't worry. Don't worry."
He closes the door and starts toward the exit, but is startled
when a man calls from behind him.

"Veenhoff!" He tosses a golf club at Steele, but
Steele ducks and the club lodges in a wooden door. He retrieves
it and backs Steele into the studio. "Now, if you're not
going to be a human being about this fine, maybe I can knock some
sense into that Neanderthal skull of yours! Now had over those
files!"

"I'm not Veenhoff!" Steele insists.

The man wrecks a light. "For the last time, give me those
files!"

"For the last time, I'm not Veenhoff!"

The man swings the club as Jackie, now wearing a sheer teddy,
stockings and a feather boa, comes out of the dressing room.
"Where do you want me, Mr. Veenhoff?" she asks.

Steele grabs a handful of sand and tosses it into the man's
eyes, blinding him. Steele grasps the putter and tosses it away,
narrowly missing Jackie, who jumps across the bed and breaks it.
Steele grabs the man, hits him and knocks him out. Steele turns
the camera around and takes the man's picture. "Smile."

He straightens his tie and leaves.

[MISSING SCENE?]

***

Mildred is typing when the phone rings. "Remington Steele
Investigations," she answers.

"Laura Holt?" a man asks.

"I'm sorry, she's not in right now. May I take a message?"

"Tell her Veenhoff called." We see a scruffy man
wearing thick lenses sitting in an equally scruffy hotel room.

Mildred parks the Auburn alongside the curb outside the building
on Melrose and gets out, holding a white paper bag. She goes
to 303, and knocks. "Mr. Veenhoff?" There's no answer.
"Mr. Veenhoff?" She tries the doorknob. It's locked.
So she pulls out her lock pick kit and tries to pick the lock.
The pick breaks off in the lock. She frowns in disgust, then
goes to the end of the hall and climbs out onto the fire escape.

From there, she climbs over onto the ledge, the paper bag in
her mouth. She sidles along the ledge, tries to get through a
window. It's latched, so she gets around the corner to an open
window.

Just as she gets there, Rhodes and Colby break into the empty
room, guns drawn. "Veenhoff!"

Mildred pulls back, then peeks inside, watching as they thoroughly
search the room. Turning back around, she sees a young man with
his head stuck inside the engine compartment of the Auburn. She
barely stops herself from crying out to him.

Once Colby and Rhodes give up and leave, Mildred yells, "HEY!
What do you think you're doing?" The young man just waves
at her. He gets the engine started, and goes around to get behind
the steering wheel. "Somebody call the cops!" Mildred
yells. "He's stealing my car!" The boy drives off in
the Auburn. "He's a car thief! Come back, you louse! Come
back with my car!"

She climbs into Veenhoff's room as he comes in. "Hey,
what's going on?" he asks.

"Veenhoff?"

"Yeah." He looks around. "What the hell did
you do to my room?"

She grabs his arm and pulls him with her to the door. "Come
on. It's not safe in here."

***

Steele, holding a handkerchief to his upper lip, enters the
offices. Laura comes from her office with some paper. "Morning,"
she says.

"Morning," he replies, watching her.

"What happened to your lip?" Laura asks, obviously
distracted.

"Racquetball," he tells her.

"I didn't know you played," she says, nearly hitting
him in the face with the door as she opens it to leave.

He follows her down the hall. "Laura, is there anything
I should know about? I mean, clients, cases?"

She glances at her watch then looks at him. "Not really.
Why?"

"Oh, no reason. Just thought we could have a bite to
eat, that's all," he says as they get to the elevator.

"Sorry. Promised a friend I'd do him a favor."

"Really? What sort of favor?"

"Oh, it's an afternoon's work. I wouldn't want to bore
you with the details." She presses the button again.

"Oh, no, no. I'll just- come along for the ride, you know?
Get a-" he takes a deep breath "-breath of fresh air."

"Ah, yes. A veritable shrinking violet," Steele
agrees dryly. The Ford is still back there. "Um, this friend
of yours wouldn't be mixed up in anything- illegitimate, would
he?"

Laura looks at him. "Your imagination never stops, does
it?"

"At the moment, it's working overtime."

"All right. A couple of days ago, someone broke into
Veenhoff's Studio, roughed him up and demanded he turn over his
files," she explains in a cool, no nonsense tone.

"That's his name. Veenhoff?"

"Yes. Luckily, he was interrupted by Veenhoff's next
appointment. I managed to get a line on a man who fits his description.
If it's who I think it is- we may have a mini-Watergate on our
hands."

"How so?"

"Ever heard of Ford Stevens?" she asks.

Steele draws a blank. "No."

"He's the candidate for State Senate. And very likely
the man I'm after."

"What's his connection with Veenhoff?"

"When I find out, I'll let you know."

Steele looks back again. This time, Laura notices and looks
herself, but doesn't see anything. "Is there something you're
not telling me?" she asks.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" he asks in return.
"Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Whatever gave you that idea?" she repeats. They
both sit there, arms folded, looking away from each other. Steele
notices and puts his arm on the door as Laura looks at him.

***

At Ford Stevens' campaign headquarters, Laura gets out of
the car. "Sit tight. I'll be back in a minute."

The Ford parks across the street.

***

Inside, Laura finds a woman who seems to be in charge. "Excuse
me, I'd like to see Ford Stevens, please?" She hands the
woman her card.

The woman looks at it. "Wait here," she says, and
moves off. Laura goes to a desk and notices an appointment on
the calendar for a press conference at 6 pm that evening.

***

Steele looks at the Ford again, then sits forward. "Fred,
why don't you swing round the back and let me out?" He pulls
some money out and hands it to Fred. "Take leisurely drive
up to Santa Barbara, and have yourself a big, fat, juicy steak."

"Thanks, Mr. Steele."

"Pleasure," Steele assures him.

It takes the Ford a moment to get out of its tight parking
space, but then it's on the tail again.

***

Ford Stevens is on the telephone in his office, talking to
someone about a campaign poster. "No! No way! Look at the
picture! I look like an albino!" The woman knocks and comes
into the room. "Make it darker. Add some color. I don't'
know. Just- make it work . . . Right, right, I gotta go."
He hangs up and turns to the woman. "What's up?"
She hands him the card. "Laura Holt, Remington Steele Investigations?"
He looks worried. "What does she want?"

"I don't know. She wants to see you."

"Uh, tell her I'm out," Ford says, rushing to grab
his coat. "Tell her- no, tell her I'm on a campaign swing
up north! Be in Fresno til Friday!" he calls out, leaving
through a back door.

"Okay." She goes back out to Laura.

Steele enters the headquarters via another back door and comes
in, wearing his sunglasses, to watch as the woman gives Laura
Ford's message. "He will return your call," she assures
Laura. "Thank you." They shake hands, then the woman
moves away.

Laura smiles tightly, then sees Steele. He comes over to her
and removes his glasses. "So?"

"Stevens is campaigning up north. He won't be back til
Friday, late."

"Um, a likely story," Steele says.

"Why do you say that?"

"Obviously from your tone of voice, you don't believe
that."

"According to his appointment book, Stevens has an interview
with Channel Six tonight- at his home, in Fremont Place."

"Isn't it a wonderful feeling, Laura, being on the same
wavelength?" Steele questions. "I mean, it's almost
as though we can- read each others' thoughts, without actually
having to articulate a thing." Laura looks confused as he
smiles.

***

Mildred and Veenhoff are holed up at Laura's loft. She's on
the phone. "I know you'll do your best, Sergeant, but you
gotta understand, that if my boss finds out that car has been
stolen, I am dead meat . . . Alright. Good-bye." She hangs
up. Veenhoff paces restlessly, and she picks up the phone again
and dials the agency number. No one is there. She finally hangs
up. "Aren't those people ever in?" she frets.

Steele looks surprised. "Veenhoff?" he repeats, then
offers his hand. "Remington Steele. How do you do?"

"Hiya," Veenhoff says.

Steele closes the door. "Not quite what I had pictured,
but-well, never mind. Mildred, it's been a terribly long day.
Perhaps you could fix us some cold drinks, please, will you?"

"Right away, Chief."

Steele looks at Veenhoff again, not noticing Laura, who's behind
him. "So, Veenhoff, why don't you come and sit down, eh?"
he suggests, not seeing the hand motions that Laura gives to Veenhoff
as he leads him toward the sofa. "Miss Holt tells me that
you two have known each other for quite some time."

Steele and Veenhoff sit down. "Oh, well, I guess about
three-" Veenhoff begins, only to have Laura finish for him.

"Years. You know?" She says, sitting down on the
arm of the sofa, smiling at them.

Steele leans close to Laura. "These women actually pay
you to photograph them in the nude?"

"Well, yes and no," Veenhoff hedges as Laura glares
at him. "I mean, most of them have come in not expecting
to do any real nudity, you know, but- uh, a couple of glasses
of wine-" he takes a drink. Steele gives Laura look. "A
little slide show of some of the previous clients, and the next
thing you know, these women are, well, getting into the real arty
stuff," Veenhoff laughs.

"Well," Laura says, "I'm sure we all find this
very fascinating, but-" she gets up. "We've got to go.
With any luck, this case will be wrapped up by tonight."

"Thank heavens for that," Steele tells her, a grin
on his face. "The next thing you know, he'll be wanting to
take YOUR picture."

Laura looks away, wondering what's going on.

***

The Ford pulls up outside Laura's building. They watch as
Laura and Steele get into the Rabbit and drive away. "Check
upstairs," Colby tells Rhodes. Rhodes gets out of the car,
and Colby follows Laura and Steele.

***

In the loft, Veenhoff is telling Mildred," Mildred, when
I'm behind that camera, sex never-" they hear a knock, and
Mildred shushes him, turning around to look at the door.

"Who is it?"

"FBI. Open up."

Mildred waves Veenhoff to the bathroom, then goes to the door.
Opening it, she asks Rhodes, "You got a warrant this time?"

Veenhoff sticks his head out of the bathroom. "Hey! How
are you?!" he asks.

Outside Ford Stevens' house, Colby sits, watching the Rabbit,
and waiting. Steele and Laura are inside as Stevens is being
made up for his TV appearance.

He looks at a mirror. "Oh, that's fine. Thank you very
much." The make up woman leaves them. Stevens gets up.
"Mr. Steele, Miss Holt, please. I just don't have time to
deal with you right now. I'm right in the middle of my campaign.
I'm a very busy man." Steele and Laura follow him as he's
walking away.

"I'm sure the news media would enjoy hearing just how
busy, Mr. Stevens. Breaking and entering, extortion, assault and
battery. Quite an agenda."

"I say," Steele asks, "What does the name Douglas
Veenhoff mean to you?"

Stevens sags. "All right. I'll tell you exactly how it
happened. But you have to understand something. My whole life
is invested in this campaign. This house, my kids' future, pension
plan, the risk is enormous."

"We're all ears," Laura tells him.

"My wife," Stevens tells them. "She-" he
moves to a table and pulls out a copy of "Bedside Babes".

She carefully goes to that page, not looking at anything else.
Steele leans over to look as well. "Your wife?" he
asks Stevens.

"No. Lucille Bascombe, our next door neighbor. She and
Emily- that's my wife- went down to this- boudoir photographer
and had all these damn pictures taken. Hell, when she first showed
them to me, I was flattered. In fact, it was kind of a turn on,"
he admits.

Steele smiles as Laura looks uncertainly at him.

"We've been married a long time. Then I saw this."

"Are you saying Douglas Veenhoff took this picture?"
Laura asks.

"YES," Stevens confirms. "That's why I wanted
his files. Can you imagine what it would do to my campaign if
my wife ended up in a smut magazine like this?"

"Well, I don't think there's much chance of that, Mr.
Stevens," Laura says. "Your wife would have to sign
a release before Veenhoff could sell her pictures."

Emily Stevens comes into the room. "Lucille didn't sign
any release."

"Are you certain?" Steele asks.

"Of course. Don't be absurd. Those pictures were meant
for her husband's eyes only." Steele nods. "As were
mine." He nods again, while Laura glances through the magazine.

"I can see your predicament, Mrs. Stevens, but the question
is-" Laura gasps, closes the magazine, her eyes wide.

"What's the question?" Stevens asks.

Laura is in shock, so Steele takes over. "The question
is, what are we gonna do about Veenhoff and this-" he grabs
the magazine out of Laura's hands, "trash."

Laura grabs it away from him. "It's already-" Steele
grabs it back, struggling with Laura for it. "It's already
on the local newsstands." Laura grabs it again, holds it
close. "Probably hundreds throughout the city," he says,
looking at her.

"Thousands across the country," Stevens tells them.

Steele glares at Laura, who asks, "Mr. Stevens,- if we
promise to deliver your wife's negatives to you, will you leave
Veenhoff alone?"

"Absolutely," Stevens says, sounding relieved.

"We'll get right on it," Steele assures them, "And
don't worry about Veenhoff," he tells them as Laura moves
off, "I have a feeling he's gonna get what's coming to him."
He follows Laura.

"I hope so," Steven says, following them a little
way. "Miss Holt," he calls. Laura stops. "I
have the funny feeling I've seen you somewhere before."

In the limo, Steele says, "Provocative gown? Presidential
primary? Where was I?"

"Mind on the case, Mr. Steele," Laura admonishes,
still furious. "We may have gotten Veenhoff off the hook
with Stevens, but he's not off the hook with me."

"Obviously, he neglected to tell you he was peddling his
pictures on the side."

"I'm gonna wring his fat, greasy neck!" she declares.

"Oh, Laura, you're taking this awfully personally. After
all, it's not as though you were between those pages. The object
of desire for every slobbering pervert, every- sex starved Marine,
every-convict on death row who wishes to kind of-"

"Mr. Steele, PLEASE!" Laura begs. "I've got
a headache!"

Steele lifts his hands. "All right. All right."

***

When they arrive at the loft, Steele slides back the door,
and Laura rushes in, loaded for bear. "All right, Veenhoff,"
she says, then stops. "Mildred?"

"Veenhoff's wanderlust is beginning to annoy me,"
Steele comments.

Laura wraps her jacket tightly around her. "I'm gonna
find that creep and bury him," she declares, leading Steele
out of the loft.

***

Mildred and Veenhoff are in Steele's office. He's examining
the pictures of Steele on the wall as Mildred talks on the phone.
"What do you mean, Tijuana? . . . What spare parts? . . .
No, no, listen to me. I don't care if you've got five thousand
stolen cars on your books. I have got to have that Auburn back
. . . When? . . .Yesterday was too late!" she hangs up.

"You hungry?" Veenhoff asks.

"How could you think of food at a time like this?"
she asks him. "We have killers on our tail and no wheels."

"Yeah, I know, but if I'm gonna die, it might as well
be on a full stomach."

"Oh, please, don't whine. You make me wish I was dead."
She paces around the office.

"You got something against me or something? You been
puttin' me down all day."

"It's your job."

"What about it?"

"It stinks." She sits down.

"Oh, hey, look, Mildred, let me tell you something,"
Veenhoff says, sitting on the end of the coffee table. "When
I was maybe- five, my dad bought me my first camera. It was an
old box kinda thing with a great big lens, worn leather case.
But I loved that camera. He was an illustrator- my dad. Worked
in advertising. And HIS father- was a sculptor. Well, mostly
he was a farmer. But he loved to sculpt the ice in the wintertime."

"What about your mother?"

"She believed in me. I wouldn't be doing this boudoir
stuff if I could sell my serious pictures, Mildred," he tells
her. "You don't believe me, do you?"

She smiles at last. "Maybe I could make us a pot of coffee."

"Could tide us over. Maybe a cookie?" he asks.

She turns and points a finger at him. "You go too far."

***

At Veenhoff's Studio, Steele and Laura enter, look around.
"Let's call it a night, shall we?" Steele suggested.
"Pick up the scent in the morning?" They turn around,
only to stop at the sound of a gun being cocked. They turn back
to find the man who attacked Steele with the golf club, standing
there with a gun. "You're becoming a regular fixture around
here, aren't you?" Steele asks.

Laura looks surprised. "You know him?"

"Passing acquaintance," Steele tells her.

"I can't afford to be a nice guy anymore, Veenhoff. I
want those files."

"He isn't Veenhoff," Laura tries to tell him.

"Uh-huh," the man says in disbelief.

Colby appears in the window behind the man. "I think
before you start anything," Steele warns, pointing, "that
I should tell you that there is an FBI agent right behind you."

"You know him too?" Laura asks, totally confused
now.

The man looks around, sees Colby. The two men start shooting
at each other. Steele and Laura duck. Colby chases the man out
of the building. Laura gets up, but Steele remains seated on
the floor.

"How do you know that guy?" Laura asks him, talking
about Colby.

"Uh, he came to the office this morning," Steele
confesses.

"The FBI came to our office and you didn't tell me?!"
Steele nods. "You came down here to this studio and didn't
tell me?!"

"I would have, but I was too busy trying to figure out
what it was that YOU weren't tell ME!" Steele yells back.

"You knew that picture was in that magazine all along,
didn't you, you- you- "

Laura slaps Veenhoff's shoulder as he sits in the chair. "I've
got just two words for you: Bedside Babes." Veenhoff looks
uncertain. "I have never felt more humiliated. More ashamed,"
she grabs his shirt and shakes him, "or more violated in
my life! Whatever possessed you to put my face on that picture?!"

"I needed the money," Veenhoff admits.

"YOU NEEDED THE MONEY?!!!" Laura repeats.

"Yeah, well, you know, you see, I had this great deal
going with a magazine in Ohio. They buy my pictures, no questions
asked. I never dreamed anybody'd find out, you know what I'm saying?
I'm talking OHIO! Anyway, I had this great shot of a gal who's
got the body of Venus de Milo, unfortunately, she's got the face
of Buster Keaton."

Steele grins and chuckles, until Laura looks at him. "So,
you did a little darkroom magic, and you put Miss Holt's face
on another woman's body."

"You got it. It's called digital retouching, it is the
latest thing. You should SEE the shots I've got of UFOs flying
through San Francisco."

"You mean, besides my client's husbands?" he asks
her. Disgusted, Laura turns and walks away. "Jealousy.
Mr. Steele, jealousy is an epidemic in this country. An epidemic!
I mean, most of these guys love the pictures of their wives.
But then, it occurs to them, somebody had to take these pictures.
Now they freak out. One guy actually threatened to bash my head
in with a golf club."

"Are you kiddin'? I jumped at it. But before I could
get anything together- my filing system is not exactly up to date-
guys started pouring out of the woodwork. I realized, hey, I'm
not gonna get a chance to spend my twenty-thousand bucks, so when
you suggested maybe I should hole up until you get things straightened
out, I jumped at that, too."

"What's in those files that make them so valuable?"
Mildred asks.

"I don't know. Name, addresses, maybe negatives."

"How many other pictures did you sell to 'Bedside Babes'?"
Laura asks.

"I don't know. A couple, maybe."

Laura goes over to the desk and picks up the magazine. She
hands it to Veenhoff. "WHICH couple?"

"Theory, Miss Holt?" Steele asks, as Veenhoff flips
through the book.

"The common denominator here seems to be that magazine.
The phony FBI came looking for ME, to get to Veenhoff, to get
to somebody whose picture is in that magazine."

Mildred frowns. "Yeah, but who?"

"Her," Veenhoff tells Laura, handing her the magazine.

"Do you remember her name?" Laura asks, handing the
magazine to Mildred, who holds it for Steele to look at before
quickly closing it.

"No. Betcha it's in my files, though."

"Well, let's just hope we can get to them before they
do," Laura says, grabbing him. "Now come on."

Steele follows them, first grabbing the magazine, then handing
it back to Mildred. She glances at a picture, then drops it
on the table, disgusted, and sits down.

***

At a convenience store, Rhodes waits in the car as Colby talks
on a payphone. "You're the one with the connections, Sal.
Use them to trace the license number. And Sal, make it snappy.
He knows we're onto him." He hangs up and goes to the car.
"Want anything?"

Rhodes takes the ice bag from his head. "Yeah. Get me
a ham and cheese. No mayo and a little mustard. See if they can
warm it up for me."

"Okay."

***

At Veenhoff's Laura and Steele are going through the files,
which are in reality scattered around the office willy-nilly.
"I thought you said you knew where everything was,"
Laura says, frowning.

"I do. It's right here. If the prices ever go down, I'd
like to put all of this on a computer someday."

"I pity the computer," Laura tells him.

"Aha," Steele says, holding a photo. "Bingo."

Veenhoff looks at it. "Hey, that's her."

"Who is she?" Laura asks, as we see the photo of
a sexy red head wearing a black negligee.

"Eileen Fitzgerald," Steele tells her, reading from
the paper that was with it. "Care of Castle Rock, 12312
Victory Blvd."

"No, I've been through this a hundred times, Michael.
I never should have had those pictures taken."

"Eileen, regardless of what's happened, those pictures
are the best birthday present you've ever given me."

"Oh, Michael, if I hadn't testified, none of this would
have happened to you, and-"

"Hey, you're my wife. I love you. We're in this together.
It could be worse. We could be at your mother's," he teases.

She smiles.

An armored car arrives, honking its horn. Eileen looks nervous.
"All right, it's business as usual," Michael tells her.
"We get the money, we sign for it, just like we do every
week. As soon as they're gone, we're out of here."

"Where to?" she asks.

"As far as we can get on five thousand dollars in change."

"We could call the number."

"No. No, it would just be the same thing all over again.
New name, new town, new job. No. From now on, we're on our own."

She nods.

They go down to greet the courier and accept the money.

The Ford tears along the street, as does the Rabbit, en route
to Castle Rock.

Michael signs for the money, and the armored car leaves. As
they're walking back to the building, they see Colby and Rhodes
jump the fence, guns drawn. Michael and Eileen turn toward the
gate, where the Rabbit has just parked. Seeing Steele and Laura,
the couple takes off in the other direction.

Laura and Steele test the gate, but can't get it open. Colby
and Rhodes chase the Fitzgeralds as Laura and Steele scale a chain
link fence. Colby takes a shot at Steele and Laura to slow them
down, then follows his partner and the couple. Steele pulls
the Agency gun and fires three shots at Colby before the gun misfires.
He's pinned down, and Laura notices a bucket of balls and a putter
laying nearby.

Colby's gun misfires as well, giving Laura the chance to get
to the balls. She sets up a shot and hits Colby in the head,
startling him, and sending him into a waterfall, giving Steele
the chance to get away.

Colby stumbles into another pool, and Steele follows, grabbing
him and knocking him unconscious. As he's dragging Colby to the
side, he hears Rhodes take a shot at the Fitzgeralds, hitting
Michael in the leg.

They stop on the grass, watching as Rhodes approaches them,
closing in for the kill. He never sees Laura appear, putter in
hand. She hits his arm, knocking the gun out of his hand. Laura
grabs the gun and joins the Fitzgeralds, holding the gun on Rhodes
as Steele rushes up behind him and hits him with clasped hands,
sending him to the ground.

Laura looks impressed.

***

Veenhoff is sitting in his vintage car, talking to Steele and
Mildred. "Look, if there's anything I can make it up to you-"

"It's not me you're in the doghouse with, mate."

"Any advice?"

"Put it drive and pray you never cross her path again,"
Steele suggests.

"Good advice."

"Okay, take care."

"You know, boss, I didn't do bad on this one," Mildred
says as they walk across the parking lot.

"You have a keen nose for fraud, Mildred," Steele
agrees. "Always a good asset."

"Does that mean you're proud of me?"

"Well, if it hadn't been for your persistent shuffling
of Veenhoff from place to place, the phony FBI would have grabbed
him, and the poor old Fitzgeralds would be dead ducks."
He stops, mouth open as the P.I. pulls up in a flatbed truck.
The Auburn is in pieces on the back.

"Found your car," the man tells Mildred.

Steele looks at her. She looks contrite. "Speaking of
dead ducks," she says, biting her lip.

***

That night, Steele and Laura are sitting before the fire in
his apartment, tossing a stack of copies of "Bedside Babes"
into the flames, one at a time. "I suppose you're wondering
why I went to Veenhoff in the first place," Laura says.

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"It all started innocently enough. I needed a portrait
for the alumni journal, and-"

"Of course you did," Steele agrees.

"You see, that's what I mean. That's exactly why I didn't
come to you about this in the first place. I needed a portrait.
He took a portrait. I didn't know anything about Veenhoff's boudoir
business until he came to me with this problem."

Steele smiles, glances at the picture in the magazine. "The
alumni journal, eh?" he asks.

"Perfectly legitimate."

"Oh, the alumni are gonna be delighted with this, aren't
they?"

Laura watches him for a moment, then grabs the magazine from
him to toss it into the fire. Then she throws herself into his
arms, kissing him, laying on top of him.